


Lips Raw With Love

by noctuua



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Chair Sex, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, takes place during iron man 2, yayyy sex!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctuua/pseuds/noctuua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint visits Natasha while she's undercover as Natalie Rushman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lips Raw With Love

**Author's Note:**

> If you were wondering, the title comes from this quote by Charles Bukowski:
> 
> "I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love,  
> and how you gave me everything you had  
> and how I offered you what was left of me."
> 
> It really has nothing to do with the actual fic, although it could definitely apply to Clint and Natasha's relationship! (Or at least, in my head it could)
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Marvel.

Natasha groans into her hands, her elbows resting on the large desk in front of her, her shoulders hunched.

She's _this_ close to giving into the urge to bang her forehead against the hardwood surface in front of her, when her cellphone begins to chime.

Glancing at the incoming call, her mood lightens considerably when she registers Clint's name flashing across the screen.

"Clint!" Natasha exclaims into her phone. It's been weeks since she's seen him, or even heard his voice, and their reunion is long overdue.

"Hey, Tasha," he replies, chuckling. Hearing Clint's voice, Natasha's mood clouds over just as quickly as it had improved when she realizes how much longer she has to remain as Tony Stark's employee. To remain as Natalie Rushman.

"Hi, Clint," Natasha sighs, lips turning down into a frown evident in her voice.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" Clint asks, and Natasha can hear him shift—into a more comfortable position, she presumes—on the other end of the line.

"Tony Stark is what's wrong," Natasha huffs, slumping back into her chair. There's something a bit disconcerting about the way the chair fits the curves of her body so perfectly, although Natasha has to admit that Stark is thorough in everything that he does.

"I just, ugh, Clint, I can't stand working for him. And I'm not even _actually_ working for him! He's insufferable!" Natasha cries.

"He's loud, arrogant, and obnoxious. He's condescending and physical, and he's the biggest show off I've ever met. If I have to spend another week being his PA and pretending to like him, I might accidentally lose control and kill him," she groans, and Clint laughs because Natasha's complaining and the Black Widow never complains.

_Stark must be really bugging her_ , Clint thinks. He can just picture Natasha, eyes closed, slumped low in her chair, and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Well, sweetheart," Clint drawls, and while she allows _darling_ because she loves the way he says it, she doesn't like _sweetheart_ , but she lets it slide because she misses him so much, "I think I have the perfect solution for your problem."

Natasha can hear the smirk in his voice.

"And what's tha—"

Her question is interrupted by the click of Clint hanging up and her office door simultaneously being swung open to reveal the man himself.

And, shit, if he isn't the best thing she's laid eyes on since she was sent on this godforsaken mission.

Natasha's on Clint before he can take another step into the room, knocking him into the door so that it closes with him on top of it.

Her lips meet his in a hot, frenzied kiss, so sloppy and unlike Natasha that it's obvious just how much she's missed his presence over the past few weeks.

Clint groans against Natasha's mouth, his hands trailing over her hips and dipping down to pull her against him, palms kneading her ass.

Natasha grins and runs her tongue across Clint's lower lip in response, and then flicks it up to catch his upper lip.

She leans back, waist still encircled by Clint's arms and hips still pressed together, and smiles at Clint. An actual, genuine smile, so big, it looks like her (beautiful, stunning, perfect in Clint's words) face might split in half. A smile reserved for Clint, and Clint only. One that took _years_ for him to coax out of her—even after they'd become partners.

"Missed you too, Tasha," he says, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Ah-ah," Natasha reprimands, although her tone lacks conviction. "It's Natalie."

"Shit," he mutters, yet his grin remains. "I must be the worst boyfriend, then—forgetting my own girlfriend's name. Which, by the way, is how I got in."

He's got a look of triumph glinting in his eyes, at having (what Clint thinks of as) outsmarted Tony Stark, and Natasha thinks he looks somewhat ridiculous, but all she can do is laugh as she brings her hands up to gently cup his face.

"Thank you," she breathes against Clint's lips, before pressing them together and slipping her tongue into his mouth.

And that's as gentle as Natasha gets before she's pressing her body insistently against his and running her hands up and down Clint's chest, trying to do too many things at once to actually achieve anything.

Clint slithers out of Natasha's grasp and he chuckles at the way her beautiful lips push into a pout and she lets out an impatient growl.

"I just got here, Ta—Nat," he says as he takes her hands and leads her to her desk.

He tells her to relax as she slides up onto the desk and he comes to stand in front of her, rough, calloused hands massaging her upper thighs.

"You're the _sexiest_ woman I know, Nat," Clint tells her, his voice low and gravelly as his eyes dart up to meet hers, steely blues wrought with sincerity.

The abundance of emotions causes Natasha to blush and warmth to pool in her lower abdomen.

"Want to know what else?" Clint asks, without really expecting an answer.

"Seeing you in this," he murmurs, his eyes raking over her long, stocking-clad legs and her tight, green dress, just barely appropriate for work, "gets me all...riled up."

Natasha moans impatiently, letting her head fall back

"Your hair's getting long," Clint comments off-handedly, noticing the way it just barely brushes against the surface of her desk with Natasha's head tipped back like it is. "I like it."

Without warning, Clint pushes the skirt of her dress up and over her hips, bunching it around her waist and pulls the crotch of Natasha's barely there panties aside to reveal her already dripping cunt.

Clint moans, thrusting two fingers into Natasha, his thumb occasionally brushing her clit, and shifts so that he can grind his aching cock against her leg.

Natasha whimpers loudly, one hand coming up to pull Clint down to kiss her, and the other reaching behind her to unzip her dress, the shoulders coming loose and the front flopping off of her chest.

She releases him briefly to let her arms slide out of the sleeves, all the while Clint continues to torment Natasha's clit as she thrusts against his hand.

"Clint," she moans, "please."

"Please, what, Nat?" Clint asks teasingly, his hand leaving her cunt, and he has to suppress a grin as she grumbles at the sudden emptiness she feels.

"Fuck me, Clint. Jesus, just fuck me," she begs, her lips swollen and parted just slightly, revealing only the tips of her pearly whites, and her eyes half lidded with desire.

"Clint," he growls, grabbing her hips roughly, in a way he knows will leave finger-shaped bruises, and dragging them to the edge, before letting go with one hand to fumble with the button and zipper on his jeans.

As soon as both are undone, his hand returns to Natasha's hip.

"Clint, not Jesus. _Clint_ ," he growls, and buries himself in her with one sharp thrust, Natasha keening so loudly that Clint has to bring a hand up to cover her mouth before anyone can hear her.

The last thing Clint wants is to compromise Natasha after she's made so much progress with Stark.

He knows the possibility of being discovered is a huge turn on for Natasha, and he definitely knows it's a huge turn on for himself, so he keeps his hand on her mouth, her muffled moans only serving to further arouse the two.

Her deadly and incredibly capable thighs are squeezing Clint's hips tightly and her ankles are locked behind his back, heels digging into his ass to get him closer. _Deeper_.

When he thinks it's safe, Clint removes his hand from Natasha's mouth, and she's moaning his name—chanting it like a prayer—but she's not screaming it, so Clint thinks they're safe, for the time being.

He fists one hand in Natasha's hair, tugging sharply so that she hisses, a mixture of pain and pleasure, and he buries his face in her neck, kissing and sucking and licking the smooth expanse of skin.

Clint can feel Natasha beginning to tighten around him, and he puts his free hand against her lower back, using his strength to lift her just so, in a way that changes the angles of his thrusts so that he's hitting her g-spot over and over and _over_ again.

Natasha can feel herself approaching the edge, can feel the heat in her abdomen coiling and tightening and she's on the brink, tipping over the precipice and into the oblivion, _when there's a knock on the fucking door_.

Natasha doesn't know whether she wants to scream, cry, or kill someone, but Clint's stopped moving and she thinks she might do all three, in no particular order.

There's another knock and Clint quickly pulls out of her, both groaning at the loss of each other's bodies.

Clint quickly pulls his jeans up from around his knees, loosely onto his hips, as Natasha pulls her dress down over her thighs, and then helps her zip up the back, too hastily for the thing to close properly.

Natasha stalks towards the door, murder in her eyes, and rips it open, so violently that the door creaks on its hinges, right as Clint darts behind it, hidden from the sight of whoever is outside the doorway.

Natasha's deadly glare is met by the bright, toothy grin of Tony Stark.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?" Natasha almost spits, her teeth bared in such a threatening manner that Stark takes a step back.

"Uh...well, I, uh," Stark mumbles before quickly composing himself, "oh, I just came to see if your boyfriend found you alright. I didn't know you had a boyfriend, by the way. Not that I doubted you would have one."

His trademark smirk is firmly back in place.

Natasha's nostrils flare. The sheer stupidity of the man astounds her!

"Yes," she bites out, "I _do_ have a boyfriend, and yes, he did find me, _quite_ alright. Was that all, Mr. Stark? I've still got half an hour of my break left."

Stark opens his mouth to say something, most likely about the way her dress is practically hanging off her chest or the way her hair is tousled in a way that screams "sex," but the glare Natasha fixes upon him is enough to shut Stark up, so he smiles politely before scampering away with as much dignity as the action allows.

Natasha lets out a harsh breath through her nose as she slams the door shut, fists clenching and unclenching.

Clint comes up behind her, hands resting in the curve of her back so that he can nudge her towards the chair behind her desk.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss against her neck, and maneuvers them so that when he sits down in the chair, Natasha falls with him, onto his lap, straddling him.

Her eyes have softened again and she just looks tired, exhausted, worn out.

Clint pushes the dress up again, letting one hand continue to travel up her back before he starts to rub up and down along her spine. He lifts his head up to plant light kisses on her eyelids, each one closing with each kiss, and then presses a small kiss to each cheek, then her nose, and then her lips.

The kiss they share this time is soft and gentle and so chaste for them, it's almost laughable.

They take the opportunity to just enjoy each other, tongues exploring and tasting and teasing, before their kisses become a bit more rough, a bit more needy, and soon they're nipping at each other's lips, both trying to mark the other as their own.

Clint lifts slightly to push his pants down, Natasha still seated in his lap, and she smirks briefly at the way she can feel his muscles flex beneath her. She's always enjoyed a nice, _strong_ man.

Natasha sighs against his lips when she feels him pressing, yet again, at her entrance, and he catches her moans with his own mouth as he fills her completely.

Clint's as hard as he was before Stark interrupted, and the way Natasha's riding his cock, he knows he's not going to last much longer.

He takes her deceptively tiny wrists into his large hands as they continue to grind together, and he brings them behind her back, transferring both to one hand while the other travels to her breasts to tease and pinch her sensitive nipples through her dress.

Clint uses the hold he's got on Natasha's wrists as leverage to thrust up into her— _hard_ —and he's hitting that spot again and she's tightening around him and he can feel the pressure at the base of his spine, so intense it's almost unbearable, and then they're both on the edge together, on the cusps of their orgasms, and they fall together, tumbling into the darkness and they both see stars as Clint shouts Natasha's name ( _oops_ , he thinks) and Natasha sobs Clint's.

When they both come down, tremors still wracking through them in the aftermath of their orgasms, they just sit there, staring each other in the eye, still feeling the connection.

"Guess now you have a legitimate reason to kill Stark," Clint says, his voice hoarse from shouting, and he grins up at her.

Natasha only smiles and laughs, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his.

"I love you," she murmurs, her lips ghosting over his.

"Love you too, Nat," he breathes, before kissing her one, last time.


End file.
